A stop in New York gave the Hardbergers a closeup look at the State of Liberty from their boat Aimless

Lobster floats hang on a wall in Bass Harbor, Maine. They're colorful and interesting to look at if you're not trying to navigate a boat through a large field of lobster traps with floats bobbing on the water's surface.

Aimless is underway on its journey up the East Coast of the U.S. with former Mayor Phil Hardberger at the helm. Hardberger takes extended journeys in the 55-foot trawler with wife Linda.

The Morgan Point Light no longer warns boaters at the entrance to the Mystic River in Connecticutt. The former lighthouse, built in 1868, is now a private residence.

Sailboats compete in the Newport-Bermuda race off the coast of Newport, R.I.

Photo By Susan Lister/Courtesy photo

City Manager Sheryl Sculley joins former Mayor Phil Hardberger on the flybridge of Aimless. Sculley's husband Mike joined her on a visit with Phil and Linda Hardberger in Southwest Harbor, Maine, for the Fourth of July.

Photo By Courtesy photo

Former San Antonio Mayor Phil Hardberger looks comfortable on the flybridge of Aimless, his 55-foot trawler that is docked in Annapolis, Md. when he and wife Linda aren't on one of their annual extended journeys.

As the sun starts to set on Bass Harbor, Maine, it's clear that life for many in this community near Southwest Harbor is centered around boating.

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Aimless journey

mySA.com: For more photos of the Hardbergers' journey go to mySA.com/travel

Editor's Note: Former Mayor Phil Hardberger and his wife Linda let us follow along on their annual journey — this time from Annapolis, Md., to Maine and back in their boat named Aimless, a 55-foot trawler. First of two installments.

CUTTYHUNK ISLAND, MASS. — Rain is falling all up and down the Elizabeth Islands, Vineyard Sound, Rhode Island Sound, and Long Island. From Boston to New York City, a gigantic storm system is pushing its way into the Atlantic Ocean. Sometimes softly, sometimes violently, the rain is accompanied by the harmony of the wind.

The wind starts as a soft breeze, hardens, freshens and finally culminates in shrieks and howls like a demented thing. And then it calms, with the boat peacefully rocking back and forth as if nothing had happened. Peace for awhile, gray low clouds scudding across the sky, and then the rain overture begins again.

Aimless was anchored in a beautiful bay yesterday, near a small island called Cuttyhunk Island. Forecasts mentioned a large weather system approaching, but the bay was so tranquil and the day so lovely, it was impossible to get very motivated to do anything.

After a peaceful night's sleep, we decided to take our small outboard dinghy for a tour, and take a short hike. All was well, but I did notice the sky graying, and the wind picking up.

Coming back to our mother boat, Aimless, we were surprised to see most of the other boats had gone, and were now distant spots on the horizon.

While Linda fixed lunch, the remaining boats departed. We were all alone, the wind was rising, and the sky had in a few hours gone from San Antonio blue to gray, and now was turning to purple.

Whitecaps were beginning to form all across the bay. Clearly it was time, past time really, to do something. Forget the dishes, forget finishing lunch. Get the anchor up! We leaped to our feet, frantic activity all around.

In a rising wind and falling tide, we made our way into the Cuttyhunk Inner Harbor, and tied up safely to a rough pier alongside fishing boats. Within a few minutes, it started to rain with great purpose: large drops pounding the boat in fury, accompanied by the wind in its howling mode. It hadn't stopped yet a day later.

Cuttyhunk is one of the 16 Elizabeth Islands that separate Rhode Island Sound and mainland United States from the Atlantic Ocean. It was discovered by the English sailor, Bartholomew Gosnold in 1602, who built a small fort, and proclaimed it English territory. And so it remained until we made it American in the War of Independence. These small outer islands are like land ships. They have small seagoing populations, totally surrounded by the Atlantic Ocean. The sea is their livelihood, their entertainment, and shapes their character. They are born by the sea, work on the sea, and sometimes die on the sea.

A North Atlantic fisherman is a hard man doing a hard job. They may not be particularly friendly and are unlikely to be talkative, but when it comes to courage, it's in their blood. It's not a single act, it is the way they live their life.

Cuttyhunk only has 30 permanent residents, though it grows by several hundred in the summer. Small as it is, Cuttyhunk has a Lifesaving Society, whose mission is to rescue sailors and passengers from a watery grave. This sea is full of rocks, currents and storms. It is bitterly cold in the winter, ice forms everywhere.

The Society's mantra is “you have a duty to go out; you don't have a duty to come back.” In short, whatever the conditions, you must go, and don't come back until you've done everything that it is possible to do.

In 1893, the sailing vessel Aquatic hit a local reef colorfully named “Sow and Pigs Reef.” Weather conditions were frightful, but Society members launched a lifeboat in heavy seas for the rescue attempt. As it came alongside the sinking ship, the lifeboat turned over, and five islanders drowned.

The Summer's Voyage

Linda and I had decided to spend this summer in the Northeast, partly to escape San Antonio's heat, and partly to explore the rich seagoing history of this part of the United States. My law firm, Cox Smith, was agreeable to this three-month hiatus from work, so off we went.

Aimless' voyage began in Annapolis, where the boat had been stored for nine months while I was at my desk at the law firm.

On the way there, we detoured briefly to Puerto Rico to attend the wedding of Javier and Katie Herrera. Javier and Jorge Herrera are the sons of Frank Herrera Jr., and now are also law partners with Frank in San Antonio. Following the wedding, we flew directly to Annapolis and climbed aboard Aimless. It was good to be back on board after so long. We went to bed with a high sense of the adventure in front of us, and we were not disappointed.

Our trip took us up the Eastern seaboard to Mid-coast Maine, and back again to Annapolis.

After two days of restocking our supplies and buying charts in Annapolis, we were under way for the first leg to New York City, a trip that passed uneventfully except for one rainy, wind-swept day in the Atlantic, off the New Jersey coast when the seas built to 6 feet, and the wind was blowing 35 mph, with gusts to 40 mph.

Aimless handled it well though, and it was a confidence builder in the boat.

By late afternoon, we turned the corner out of the Atlantic and in calming seas headed into New York City.

It is always a thrill to sail past the Statue of Liberty. She's a beautiful lady. It's a good thing to be reminded of our ideals and what our country stands for. While we were in New York, we visited the 9/11 Memorial, which is still under construction. The memorial pools and waterfalls are finished though, with the names of all the victims, both civilians and first-responders. Standing there, reading the names, the tears naturally flowed.

I was taken unawares, and a little embarrassed, to be wiping my eyes and blowing my nose until I looked around and saw so many other people doing the same thing.

Just as I was regaining my composure, we came across a small, lone pear tree. It was at ground zero, and lives yet, a symbol of the endurance of nature. Time to pull out the handkerchief again. On our last day in New York, we were joined by old friends and fellow sailors, Bill and Jeanette Howze of Houston, who stayed with us until we got to Newport, R.I., Along the way, we stopped at Mystic, Conn., to visit old friends, David and Wanda Stovall, of Fort Worth.

David and I went through Baylor together, and in due time he became a highly successful CPA, and an avid boater.

He named his boat, appropriately enough, The Bottom Line. He, too, was headed Northeast, but had suffered a serious injury in May in Mystic when he fell off a dock in the dark, breaking both his leg and ripping out his artificial knee in the process.

By the time we arrived, the necessary operations and formal rehabilitation had been completed, but he was still in pain, and could barely walk.

He refused to go back home, and vowed he and his wife would continue their trip, and he would “see us in Maine.”

I didn't believe a word of it. But one week after we arrived in Southwest Harbor, Maine, he sailed into the marina.

He walked slowly for short distances with a cane, and was still in pain, but there he was, and doing a good job of boat handling. The commentators in the Olympics talked a lot about the indomitable spirit of the competing athletes. I didn't have to go to London to see it. I saw it in Maine that day in a 75-year-old man who wasn't going to be defeated in his goal.

Newport, R.I.

When we arrived in Newport, R.I., we were greeted with great fanfare by Deborah Hadley of San Antonio.

Deborah spends her vacation time in Newport, and knows many people there. She also serves as a board member of an important yacht restoration and training school there, formally called IYRS.

Deborah laid out the welcome mat by telling the locals that San Antonio's royalty was arriving, and to treat us accordingly. They did.

It may be possible that Deborah inadvertently omitted the adjective “former” when she told people of the arrival of the mayor of San Antonio, or maybe they were just naturally friendly, but either way, we had a good time.

Among other things, she saw that we got an invitation to the New York Yacht Club, the nation's most exclusive yacht club.

Club headquarters are in New York City, but the summer home is in Newport — very fancy. I don't even belong to a yacht club. The next day was the start of the Newport Bermuda race, the premier U.S. sailboat competition, so race frisson was in the air.

We had a few moments to spend with San Antonian Mark Watson, III. Mark is the president and CEO of Argo Group. Mark is an avid and skilled ocean sailboat racer. He was racing his boat, Tiburon, the next day.

In the event he started well and finished well, as he has done in the past. As this race is the NFL of sailing, it was an impressive performance.

We had gotten an invitation from the CEO of Hinckley Yachts, Jim McManus, to go out with him on one of his boats to watch the start of the race — an invitation we quickly accepted, and we invited Deborah to join us.

As the Hinckley is a high-end fast jet boat, we were able to scoot around to get better vantage points, and we followed the race for a few miles, going first on one side and then the other. Talk about having a front-row seat!

We were well-dined and well-entertained for three days, but it was time to move on to Maine, our ultimate destination for this summer.

Maine

Maine has always been one of our favorite places. It is beautiful — the air crystal, and the cold water makes for natural air conditioning.

When you are in the Acadia National Park region, with its trio of towns (Bar Harbor, Northeast Harbor and Southwest Harbor), you are surrounded by mountains. The seas teem with fish, especially lobster, clams, mussels and scallops.

For South Texans, used to day after day of pounding heat in the summer, it is paradise to wake up in the morning when it is 55 degrees outside, warming to 80 degrees in the afternoon, and then dropping rapidly as the day ends.

It is a foolish thing for a sailor in these parts not to have a sweater handy at all times. If the sun is going in and out of clouds, you may put it on and off several times in one day.

Honesty compels me to admit, though, that cruising these waters is a graduate course in boating. There are a lot of ways to get in trouble in Maine waters.

You must give it your full attention, all of the time.

There are 12-foot tides every six hours, so you are constantly going up and down, and will do both in one night's sleep.

Currents can be, and often are, challenging.

Fog is a frequent event, which is beautiful when you are at anchor, softly transforming the landscape and perfect for quiet conversation, thinking or reading.

Under way though, it is none of those things. It is nerve-wracking, and you have a powerful desire to be elsewhere, safely stopped. And there are always the rocks, above and below the water, that stand ready to enforce their harsh discipline with no appeals.

A few years ago, I witnessed the launching of a new luxury Hinckley power vessel in Southwest Harbor.

For many years Hinckley has built some of the most beautiful and seaworthy boats in the world.

This boat was no exception. It had taken more than a year to build, all by hand. The bright work of polished wood and steel put a lump in your throat. It was just so elegant!

The boat departed the next morning, bound for Boston with several of us waving it off.

The next morning I noticed long faces, and lowered voices similar to the ones we use around a funeral home when we are paying our respects.

I cornered a man who I knew had worked many months on the boat to determine what was happening.

“She sunk,” he answered. “Hit a rock. The Cap tried to make shore. Didn't make it, though.” He began to walk away.

Unsatisfied with this laconic explanation, I trotted along behind him. “But how could this happen?” I stammered.

He turned, and with a gray face devoid of any emotion, said: “He wasn't where he thought he was.”

Next Sunday: Part 2 — The Hardbergers spend time in Southwest Harbor, Maine, one of their favorite spots on their Eastern Seaboard journey.